Not All That Glitters is Gold
by frankannestein
Summary: Sequel to "Sounding the Crystal Bell": Finding love in the only person who knows everything about you is supposed to bring a happy ending, but they are anything but ordinary. Can two non-traditional people live a traditional happily ever after? (text update 2/2/16)
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **Lady Aurora Nocturne, this one is for you._

* * *

**_Of Reno_**

His phone rang.

He didn't move. Every part of him hurt. His head. His stomach. His teeth. His damn _eyeballs_.

Muffled by his pocket as it was, he couldn't name the ringtone. It went on for a full thirty seconds, sending stabbing pains through his aching head, and then abruptly shut off. The caller gave him exactly six seconds before trying again.

"You gonna get that?" Rude asked the fourth time this happened.

For an answer, he blindly fished the buzzing phone from his jacket and lobbed it at his partner.

It bounced off Rude's shaved head with a solid _thwack_ – damn it, he'd known it was _her_ calling, why hadn't he recognized that dippy song? – and landed facedown on the carpet. Rude didn't react. He was lying on the couch with his face buried in a cushion. How could he breathe? Rude's large, brown hand lay near the phone, lit from underneath as Elena's ringtone merrily started up again.

And then the door crashed open, admitting Elena herself.

"What are you doing?" she screeched, her cornsilk hair wild, her phone clutched in one tiny fist, which was poised about a foot from her ear. What had she done, run up all sixty flights of stairs? "Answer your phone when someone calls, sir!"

Then she gagged and took quick steps backward, her wrist pressed to her nose, and gasped, "It stinks like alcohol in here!"

He covered his eyes with an arm to block out the light from the hall. "Should have put the privacy lock on, Rude."

"Sorry," Rude grunted into the cushion.

"Were you up drinking all _night_?" Elena asked, softer. Dodging empty bottles and cans, she edged into their hotel room and, mercifully, shut the door behind her. She then slipped the extra key to their room into her wallet. Tseng always made sure they had extra keys. With good reason.

"Chief gave us the night off," he said, rolling his throbbing eyes up in order to watch her approach, upside-down. He was sprawled on his back across his own couch, but he seemed to be too big, his legs spilling off it at one end. "It's my birthday."

She snorted, an obscene sound from such a pixieish face, and cros-sed her arms tightly across her chest. "It is not, sir. Your birthday is in four days."

Trust her to know that. It felt good that she did. He held up a hand, toasting her with an invisible glass. "Happy week of my birth."

"Congratulations," Rude said, and then made a sound like a bear coughing up a hairball. Laughter.

He snickered, letting his hand drop.

Elena gave a delicate sigh. Brows creased, she pointed at his foot. "Did you know you have a dead lizard wedged under your shoelace?"

"I do?" He sat up so fast his head spun, but even in the darkened room, he could see the sad little corpse. "Huh."

"How did that happen?" she asked.

"I have no idea." He started snickering, harder this time, until his stomach gave a huge roll and he lurched off the couch as if he'd been tased.

Elena caught him before he faceplanted on the floor and helped maneuver him upright. "Come on, sir," she said from somewhere near his armpit, sounding resigned. "Let's get you to the toilet. We can give the lizard a burial at sea while we're at it."

"Congratulations," Rude said again, but by the time Elena got him through the door and his knees hit the bathroom tiles, his partner was snoring.

"Thanks, Elena," he whispered before she grabbed his hair to keep it out of the way. Her only answer was to rub his shoulders gently until the worst passed.

..::~*~::..

The Turks.

He took his place to the left of the President when Rufus stood, Rude falling into step next to him, Elena and Tseng flanking them from the right. Wearing his customary white suit, President Shinra acted like he couldn't see them, laughing and shaking hands as he closed yet ano-ther deal. His bodyguards were there to impress, dressed in black, tough, silent, and very, very deadly.

Everyone knew of the Turks.

Walking quickly to shake off the hangers-on, Rufus made it out-side. He stepped into the wind on the shiny new skyscraper's roof, his fair hair gilded by the sun. The new mayor of Vanaheim had followed them out with a small retinue. He called out to the President, obviously reluctant to let him go. Sloe-eyed Tseng fell back with Rude. Unobtru-sively protecting Rufus Shinra.

Nothing must ever happen to the President. It was their sworn duty as Turks. Accepting the invitation to Vanaheim, one of the new cities that had taken root after the planet-wide cure of geostigma and that now rivaled Midgar Edge, had been a risky undertaking, because there was something wrong in Vanaheim. A corruption, glaring at them from beneath every polished surface, through the cracks of every gleaming street. Vanaheim had sprung up overnight like a forest of concrete mushrooms. Where had they gotten the materials? The manpower? Did they think no one would _notice_? President Shinra had agreed to come here at Reeve Tuesti's request. The WRO, focused as it was on rebuild-ing the world, could not have a hand in tearing a part of it down, no matter how small or polluted a part. That was where the Turks came in.

He jogged over to the waiting helicopter emblazoned with the Shin-Ra, Inc. logo, a sight that never failed to fill his chest with pride. Easily, he swung himself aboard and put on his headset. He was sur-prised when Elena joined him at the controls. Rude's chunky headset, when she put it on, made her look tinier than ever.

"What do you think?" she asked as he started the engine. Her eyes, childlike and blue, were steady on his face. Although she was no longer the newest Turk, she still looked up to him. Even after witnessing his weakest moments, to her, he was one of her mentors. To her, his judg-ment was paramount. It had been that way since the day he had elimin-ated Don Corneo. What a satisfying job that had been.

Considering his answer, he leaned back, lounging in his seat, and glanced out the window. The familiar thrum of the rotors was soothing, and he thought, if the mayor detained the President much longer, that he might get away with a nap. The windshield was tinted so dark no one could see inside, anyway.

Drowsily, he watched the mayor cycle through rehearsed roles and faces, conspiratorial, businesslike, aloof, pleading, and then finally drop the façade, sweat standing out on his wide forehead, when the President failed to fall for any of them.

He smiled. He thought this part was funny. Guilt always made them say too much.

Then he sighed, his humor fading. Damn. To be this hung over and still have so much work to do. Still, he preferred work over the blank emptiness that was time off. Last night, the bartender in the swanky hotel where the President had been set up had been a strawberry blonde with curls and a pretty face, though her eyes had been wrong. Blue in-stead of the green he craved. Which was why he and Rude had finished their bender by themselves up in the room.

A corner of his mouth quirked up. He knew what _she_ would think of him losing control like that. What she would say about him getting fall-down drunk. Again. How she would tell him how lucky he was to have someone like Elena to take care of him.

As if he needed her to tell him that. He was a Turk, and Turks never faced the nightmares alone. They were closer than a family, partners un-til death, trusting each other with their lives.

But not her. She was something else, something special in a way that he couldn't explain or reconcile. He knew everything about her. Especially how it would feel to hold her in spite of her harsh words, to kiss her despite her disappointment in him. To make angry love late into the night, gradually earning her forgiveness. The way they always did. Time and time again.

He turned the crooked smile on Elena.

"Looks like we'll be working overtime tonight."

* * *

_**A/N: **Greetings and salutations, Dear Readers!_

_Gosh, where do I even begin? :3_

_A few years ago, I wrote my first ever fanfic, StCB. I liked it at the time, although I knew how many issues it had. I finished it, and I never looked back._

_But I received two reviews, one from heavenslilagl420 and, years later, one from Lady Aurora Nocturne, who both expressed the same concern._

_The ending was too ambiguous. Did Reno and Cristobel get their happy ending, or not?_

_The answer to that was that I didn't know. Honest. But now, I feel like I can address that question. So please, join me on a short trip to find the answer. (I originally planned for this to be a one-shot, but yeah, that plan went out the window as soon as I started committing words to the screen! I do promise it's not full story length, though.)_

_A little thoughts on the setting: This takes pace after the events of "Dirge of Cerberus," but at an undefined time. I won't say how much time has passed. I have created Vanaheim for conflict, but this story does not focus on action-adventure and Vanaheim's part to play is small._

_Please, if you've read this, won't you leave me a review? Pretty please? I really love them and I would love to hear what you think so far. Do you have any questions? Suggestions? Thumbs up, thumbs down? :3 Let me know!_

_Thank you for giving this story a try._

_Ever yours,_

_Anne_

_**5/27/14** Edit: Because I never plot out my stories before writing them, I decided I had the wrong songs attributed to Reno and Cristobel, and have switched them. I think the messages fit better now. :3_


	2. Chapter 2

A click, loud as a gunshot in the darkened office building. The door swung open, black on black, the waft of air smelling of industrial-strength cleaner. Everything was so brand new it was unreal. Even second-hand Edge had been built with the wreckage from Midgar, but not this place. Vanaheim was pristine, untouched territory.

With the whisper of his shoes on commercial carpeting, he stepped over the slumped bodies of the security guards into the mayor's office, Rude on his heels.

Making a big show of it, President Shinra had left that afternoon with Tseng, Elena, and the others. As usual, no one had bothered giving the uniformed Turks a headcount to notice two were missing. If they had, they would have hired mercenaries, professional killers, to guard the entrances instead of those poor, unprepared saps on the government payroll.

With a pencil light between his teeth, his partner crouched in one corner of the lavish office and carefully levered his backpack to the floor.

Leaving Rude to his work, he made a beeline for the expensive, state-of-the-art computer sitting on the opulent desk and powered it up. He then slipped a thumb drive loaded with one of Tseng's specials into the port and used it to boot the machine, then to decrypt the pass-code. He didn't have to understand how it worked; Tseng's invasive coding did all the work.

Several gigs of data began downloading to the drive after a few re-hearsed taps of the keyboard. He watched the images flash across the screen for a moment. Next, he cut open the locks of the filing cabinets to pillage their contents while the program did its job.

"Illegal gambling," he said, opening a few of the paper files and skimming their contents before he stuffed them in his backpack. "The boss was right. It's a den. That's how they put all this together so quickly. The yakuza's involved."

He laughed in derision, still reading. The _yakuza_. Wannabe thugs and drug lords. Small potatoes. No one could ever replicate the Turks.

Rude paused in the middle of capping a bundle of wires, his ear-rings catching the light of his flashlight as he looked up. "And the man-power?"

"Geostigma survivors." He'd reached personnel files, complete with black and white photos clipped in. He turned one sideways, trying to make sense of the grainy image. "The ones that lost limbs or their minds before the cure. Slave labor. Mostly adults, but they're also using little kids. That's sick."

He liked kids. They could be a pain in the ass, but they were also hilarious. No boundaries, no filters. No working understanding of phy-sics. He admired that.

"Do you want to wait, contact the Director before we do this?" Rude asked, indicating the masterpiece of C-4 and the detonators he had connected to it and other, similar deposits around the building. Rude hadn't armed the trigger yet.

"Nah," he answered decisively, snapping the manila folder shut. "We have a job to do, and these guys," he held up the packet of files and then shoved it in with the others, "they're kept in a separate compound. The only things going up here are the yakuza."

"You sure?" Rude asked in his slow voice.

Was he? He eyed the C-4, then the mayor's ill-gotten riches glitter-ing in the thin beam of light, and a slow grin spread across his face. Bringing the scum of Gaea to its knees. That's what they were here for.

He loved his job.

Tossing a casual wave over his shoulder, he turned to the window, their point of egress, and then kicked it open.

"Blow it."

..::~*~::..

Whisky coated the sides of the glass when he put it down, the alcohol burning his throat like her perfume did, sometimes. He admired the glitter of the lights on the crystal, shining in the amber liquid, throwing golden shapes on the polished mahogany bar. Directly above his head, a flat screen TV blared at top volume over the noise of conversation, clos-ed captioning scrolling a good minute after the sound: After the inexpli-cable bombings in Vanaheim, Mayor Hoenir was taken into custody over allegations of smuggling, child labor, and a laundry list of further felo-nies. The bar's patrons were discussing the scandal in loud, superior voices.

Smirking, he took a swig of whisky. Just another day on the job. Those yakuza upstarts would think twice before treading into Turk ter-ritory again.

Speaking of the Turks, as one, he sat alone at bars. Usually. But a man next to him suddenly gave a low whistle, punched his shoulder, and said, "Hey, buddy, get a load of _that_."

Tilting his glass to hear the ice clink, he glanced in the mirror be-hind the bar.

And then he just sat there, staring at the dark reflections, drink forgotten.

Because Cristobel had walked in, and every single man in the bar had noticed.

Her hair, red-gold in the intimate lighting, hung loose in thick kinks and spirals all the way down her back, and her dress – the only thing he thought of it was that it was red, and appeared to be at least three sizes too small – left nearly the entire length of her long legs bare. She paused near the door, her eyes darting through the knots of people until she found him in the mirror, hunched over his glass, struck as dumb as the dude next to him. Then she smiled.

The whole world lurched, its axis on a dangerous tilt. When he stood, he kept one hand on the bar, the other in his pocket, to keep from getting knocked down by the familiar tug-of-war inside him.

The Turks.

And _her_.

They didn't exist in the same sphere.

Sadly, those were her words, not his, but she was so right. His world was split in two hemispheres, constantly trying to fly off in differ-ent directions.

The Turks. And _her_.

"Damn," the dude next to him muttered, watching Cristobel ap-proach. "I'd tap that."

"No. You won't." He took ten gil from his pocket and set it on the bar, ordering a beer. He put a hand on the dude's shoulder, squeezed perhaps harder than necessary, and leaned close long enough to say un-der his breath, "That one is mine."

Then he left the beer on the bar and went out to meet her.

"I've been watching this story develop the last couple of days," she greeted him, gesturing at the TV. The newscast was still playing, rolling through footage of the bombing, the arrests, the discovery and release of the lame, the sick, and the orphaned slaves. "Was that you?"

"Yeah," he said, grinning, and curled an arm around her waist. "Proud of me?"

"Very. But tell me something," she said, and pointed below the TV. "What was _that_?"

"Huh? Oh –" His fingers sought the back of his head as he glanced back at the bar. The dude was staring at them, mouth agape, the free beer untouched behind him. Condensation rolled down the sides of the mug, cutting tracks in the rime of frost. "That was . . ."

He trailed off, and then looked down at her. "What's _this_ about?"

He ran his fingers lightly up her side, feeling the thin, slippery ma-terial of her dress, the warmth of her skin through it.

She tilted her head and pushed away from him. Then she turned on the spot, showing it off from all angles, and he wasn't the only one checking her out. Her eyes were smiling. "Don't you like it?"

He grinned and put both arms around her. He wanted her close. He felt so much better when she was close. "I like it a lot," he murmured into her hair.

As a universal rule, bars at happy hour were noisy and crowded. There were people everywhere, eating, drinking, laughing, shouting, passing around them to visit Gold Saucer's amusement park, or the theater, the casino, the races. But none of that mattered, because _she_ was there.

Leaning her head against his shoulder, she giggled. "I thought you might. Happy birthday."

He didn't say anything else. Much as he liked that skimpy outfit, it worried him. Because he knew better. He knew what she'd been through – what Tseng had put her through – and knew the promise she'd made to herself.

"You're a Turk. What's a Turk doing here?" a rough, belligerent voice demanded, breaking in on his thoughts.

Cristobel stiffened in his arms.

He glared at the dude at the bar, who had recovered and was glaring right back through narrowed eyes.

Cristobel leaned around him, for he'd unconsciously tucked her to his side. Protecting her. Ha, ha.

"We're just here to have a nice night," she said sweetly. She went up on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Really, don't you have anything else to wear?" she hissed in his ear.

There it was. The disappointment. He looked down at his black jacket and white shirt. Because, no. He didn't. He was a Turk.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asked in a low voice instead of answering, so that only she could hear.

"Definitely," she said, giving him another peck.

* * *

_**A/N: **Sometimes, relationships just don't work out the way we think they will. People affect us in ways we never imagined. And sometimes, it just isn't possible to say what's really on your mind. That was what I brought to this chapter as I explore who Reno might be._

_Reviewer thanks! **Darwin** (Aw, your review made me laugh, but I was kind of like, _d'oh_! too. Reno's not supposed to be a cretin, per se, but rather just a man in a sad place. He's not managing his life very well. I hope I was able to pull some of that into this chapter, but let me know if there's anything specific that stood out to you in either of these chapters, okay? And thank you so much for reviewing! :3 By the way, I was working on chapter 7 for you all last night. I just have a couple more pages to go!)_

_And, two parts done. There should be one more from Reno's POV, and then three from Cristobel's, and that will be the end of the story. I hope you've enjoyed this so far! Please review, okay?_

_~ Anne_

_Remember to review! :3_


	3. Chapter 3

He had no idea what time it was, except that he was pretty sure it was still his birthday.

It was dark and hot in the hotel room. He leaned his head back, slouching further into the armchair he'd somehow managed to stumble into, although he didn't really remember. With Cristobel's moans spik-ing dangerously close to climax, he ran his hands down her back, over the slippery dress bunched at her waist, to caress her hips. Then lower, slipping along smooth, muscled thighs. He stopped at her knees, wrap-ping his hands around them to give her extra leverage.

He was trapped, helpless beneath her, surrendering himself com-pletely to her.

Unaware, she cried out sharply, invisible in the dark. He loved that sound, loved the press of her hands against his chest, the trembling in her legs, the smell of her hair across his face.

When, exactly, had he fallen so hard for her?

..::~*~::..

"Background noise," she said, tossing him a grin while she hunted up the TV remote and pushed the power button.

She'd flipped on the lights, revealing the room for the first time, but she hadn't straightened the red dress properly, and he found the sight of the barest curve of backside peeking beneath the hem much more interesting than yet another hotel room. Like a dog on a leash – a willing, euphoric dog – he followed it as it sashayed over to the mini bar.

"Want something to drink?" she asked over the news anchors on the TV.

He wound his arms around her from behind, burying his nose in her neck in order to breathe her in. "What do you have in mind?"

For a moment, she pressed back against him, but then twisted out of his reach with a bottle of wine and a corkscrew in her hands. "Just this. Would you turn on the air, please? It's stuffy in here."

He did as she asked, stepping around discarded clothing to reach the thermostat. Their shoes, his jacket, her panties. A familiar trail of impatience across an unfamiliar floor.

Something tightened unpleasantly in his chest. How long could they keep this up? This on again, off again relationship between two people who couldn't seem to fit each other into their daily lives?

"I'm glad you could come tonight," he said, claiming a spot on the sofa in front of the TV when she padded over barefoot, two glasses of zinfandel in hand. She gave him one, and then curled up next to him, resting against his chest with her feet tucked under her.

"Me too," she murmured, sipping her wine. "It wasn't easy to get the time off. I had to find a substitute, and everyone was busy. In the end, I traded class trip chaperone duty with Sophie."

That right there was the problem, wasn't it? She was fiercely inde-pendent, having made a home for herself in Cosmo Canyon. She'd lost the security of her childhood home as a teenager by the hands of her own parents; he knew that she never wanted to rely on anyone ever again. Her apartment was a place of peace high in the mountain air. They'd had a few good times there, sure, but he would never be more than a guest. His apartment, well – that was out of the question. At least, it was for her. She refused to come to Edge. So they stole mo-ments here and there, meeting in neutral locations, spending their nights on a restaurant dinner and a stay in a hotel. No permanence. No commitment.

"I wish we lived closer to each other," she murmured, echoing his thoughts. "I miss you when you're away on jobs."

"A phone call only does so much," he agreed, hugging her weight closer. He loved those calls about as much as he hated them.

"Mmm," she said.

He slept alone so often, with nothing but the sheets to hold him. Sometimes he'd call her in the middle of the night. Not to talk, but to listen to her breathe. If only there was some other way . . .

Slowly coming down from the endorphin rush, he stared at the twenty-four-hour news coverage, which was still running over the dis-turbance in Vanaheim, without really seeing it. Once upon a time, he and the Turks had made bigger headlines than that. The only reason this story was getting so much attention was because the world was quiet. No more Sephiroth or Jenova. No more mako energy, or wars for SOL-DIER to fight, or the sickness that had been killing their children. No more crazy scientists bent on ruling the world.

Cristobel played with his shirt, undoing the buttons one by one while she watched the news. Absently, he rubbed the skin of her shoul-der under one of the slinky straps, enjoying the feel of her hand tracing circles on his stomach. They were so comfortable together. He remem-bered the day he'd found out she wasn't a boy, and how, ever since, he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her. She was the sort of person that _glowed_.

Wine glass empty, he began speaking some of his thoughts aloud as she turned her head and pressed her lips to his skin.

"I miss the old days," he said. "It's too bad Vanaheim was such a small time job. If it had been something bigger, like Deepground –"

She paused with her fingers on his fly, failing to unzip it, and he noticed that more than the tone of her voice. "What do you mean? That saving those children isn't good enough, that you need a worldwide threat to have job fulfillment?"

"No, not that, exactly," he said, his eyes on the television. Yeah, not so long ago, the Turks would have _owned_ the broadcasts. If it had been something bigger, _she_ might have been there in Vanaheim, too.

Then he sat up, excitement coursing through him. That was it! That would solve all of their problems!

"Reno?" she asked, startled, jolted out of his lap by his sudden movement.

"_You_ could join the Turks!" he blurted.

There was no inflection whatsoever in her quiet voice when she said, ". . . What."

It didn't matter, because he was so _sure_, this felt so _right_. He took her by the shoulders, speaking at top speed. "Join the Turks! Think about it, Cris. You have materia. You're a great mage. We could fight to-gether again –"

"You want me to work for Rufus Shinra?" she interrupted in tones of frostbite.

"Well, yeah." He deflated.

"For _Tseng_? Are you _stupid_?"

It had sounded like a good idea in his head, but while sitting there as she wrenched herself out of his grasp and got off the sofa, it dawned on him that it was the exact opposite.

"That is one of the most idiotic things you've ever said," she snap-ped. "And that's saying a lot."

"Hey," he said, annoyed. Then, as she slammed around looking for her things, he let it go. "Look, I'm sorry. It _was_ stupid. I didn't mean it."

"I can't _believe_ you would suggest that," she seethed.

"I just . . ." With a snarl, he ran his hands through his hair. "I'm sor-ry. Forget it! I don't know what you want from me."

"_Nothing_," she said. "I don't want a damn thing from the Turks."

Now he was angry. There was one memorable night, what felt like a long time ago, when he'd left his phone on the nightstand, and the Chief had called, and he'd picked up. That fight had been epic. So had the sex. He stood up and strode over to her, backing her into the wall. "Then what the hell do you keep coming around for? I _am_ a Turk, Cristobel. I will always be a Turk."

She may have given ground, but she wasn't backing down, and she furiously shoved him. After a short struggle, he captured both of her wrists and held them in one fist above her head. He towered over her, holding her against the wall. Still, her green eyes blazed, undaunted.

"Don't you understand anything?" she demanded.

"How can I when you don't explain anything?" he retorted.

"All I want is you!" she shouted. "I want you to be there when I wake up, and when I come home. There is _no one_ who gets me like you do, and I'm tired of being alone."

"Me? Now who's stupid? I'm a mess. We aren't war heroes. We're the bad guys. You know that! You shouldn't want me."

She stared at him in disbelief. "You are such an idiot. _I love you_. You, Reno!"

At that, the world ground to a halt. He forgot about breathing. He forgot about the fight. He made an inarticulate sound deep in his throat and kissed her. Roughly. Desperately. And she, in spite of her pinned hands, kissed him back.

_Good thing the TV's on_, he thought, lifting her against the wall so that he could settle her legs around his hips, so she could feel how much he wanted her. How immediate his reaction to what she had said. What she had never said before.

She gasped at the sudden assault, and he grinned.

_This is gonna get loud_.

Because she was _there_, she was helping, her little hand guiding him when he released it to explore the body beneath the dress. He tasted her throat, her breasts, wincing in a kind of pained pleasure at the burn of perfume in the back of his mouth. Her fists knotted in his hair, hurt-ing him, showing him that she was still mad, but her legs were tighten-ing around his waist. A low groan slipped between his teeth when she started crying out, screaming his name. He moved faster, wanting to follow her down.

She loved him. No matter the mess he was.

She was the only one for him.

* * *

_**A/N: **Well! *cough*  
_

_I thought of all of these scenes and then discarded them while writing StCB, when I realized the story wouldn't be able to encompass all of their (R &amp; C's) complications. It hasn't taken much to adapt them here, which is why I'm able to update so quickly._

_As far as Reno's character goes, there's that scene in AC, where he takes so long to figure out the helicopter controls are broken. And all I could think was, Such a dumbass! I mean, I didn't think he was THAT dumb in the game, and he has some pretty studly scenes in the movie, but that particular one stuck with me . . . I wanted to bring a little of that dumbassery back. I'm not very good at his type of character, but I tried my best. :3_

_Reviewer thanks! **Lady Aurora Nocturne **(I'm so happy you liked it! Thank you so much for reviewing!__)._

_Next "chapter" begins things from Cristobel's POV. I hope you have enjoyed this so far!_

_Yours most humbly,_

_Anne_

_Please review!_


	4. Chapter 4

**_Of Cristobel_**

She would have to leave soon.

Already, her mind was on the trip home, the things she had to do before returning to work.

But for right now . . .

She propped herself up on her elbows. "Hey," she said softly, in case Reno was sleeping.

He wasn't. One side of his mouth curled up in the shadow of a smile. Without sitting up, he reached over and moved her hair behind her shoulder, smoothing the hopelessly matted curls. His breathing re-mained deep and even as he brushed her arm, lightly as a butterfly, and then he cupped the side of her face. She leaned into his touch, kissing his palm, and his eyes, a muzzy, unfocused blue, slid closed again.

He had such thick, black eyelashes. They lay like bird's wings against his skin. Fondly, she smiled. She'd always hated that. Jealousy was a bitch.

Resting her cheek against his hand, she watched him drift between wakefulness and sleep, his straight, elfin eyebrows tilted up at the outer edges but drawn together pensively in the middle. His ponytail had come loose, impossibly red against his bare chest and the white pillow-case. It was almost as long as hers.

She was going to miss this when she left.

Reno, tall, lanky, and a bit of a slob, was hard not to look at, no matter the size of the crowd. He had a temper, too, but he could be friendly. If he liked you. Briefly, she put her fingertips on one of the red crescents tattooed on his cheekbones. Unusual. Like him.

He felt things so much more strongly than she would have given a man credit for, especially one who was as lazy as he could be. Every reaction was instantaneous. When he saw something he liked, he let everybody know. Likewise, when he saw something he didn't like, he went after it. Sadistically. Even if that meant nightmares later. He was second in command of the Turks, yet the weight of all the lives he had taken – as recently as Vanaheim – never left him.

She knew what that felt like. He was right. They were the bad guys, not the heroes.

She lowered his hand to the sheets.

"Happy birthday, Reno," she whispered, but when she scooted out of bed, his long fingers closed around her wrist. Startled, she looked back.

"Don't go," he mumbled. His eyes opened, the blue dark with pain. He had such beautiful eyes.

"Shh," she said, combing his bangs off his forehead. He was still half asleep. "I'm not mad anymore. It's okay."

He rolled onto his side, but got stuck, lower body tangled in the sheets. He hugged her around the middle anyway, the top of his head pressed into her belly. "I'm no good when you're gone," he said into the blanket. "I need you to be mad at me."

An empty feeling opened in her stomach. She settled her hands in his hair, on his back. Poor Elena. He must have lost it again and left quite a mess for his subordinate to clean up.

_Why_? she wondered. Reno was older than she was by about six years. Why would he need her, or anyone, to take care of him? He'd joined the Turks at a young age. He was good at what he did. What had he done before they'd met? Or in the two years they'd been separated?

She knew the answer to that. He'd slowly begun falling apart.

And now here he was, holding on for dear life.

Distracting her from her thoughts, his lips moved, hot across her belly, and then his tongue.

Well. She could stay a _little_ longer.

..::~*~::..

Gold Saucer was different during the day. There were children every-where.

Walking down Central Station toward the ropeway, she threw her arms overhead and stretched, feeling pretty damn good. The memory of the red dress was more pleasant than she'd expected. It had been fun, actually. The look on Reno's face! She giggled. If only she'd been able to bring her phone to snap a photo of that.

A large hand closed around hers. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing," she said airily, twining her fingers with his. They were back to themselves. He carried a single garment bag over his shoulder. She hitched her own backpack higher, the daring woman in red returned to her usual slim jeans, long-sleeved shirt, and unruly ponytail.

They walked hand in hand toward reality, dodging an overexcited child with every other step. She glanced up at him, feeling a little annoy-ed herself, but he was smiling. He didn't mind kids.

But his silence meant something else. He was distracted, his long body sliding into a hunted stride. She'd played this game before and co-vertly looked around without losing the lighthearted swing of their joined hands. By the way Reno's smile turned crooked, the Turk in him was coming to the surface in response to a threat.

Then she saw him. A man. A familiar one. Watching them with nar-rowed eyes. He stood like a statue near the entrance to the casino, his expression dark as a thundercloud.

She frowned, trying to place his face.

Reno let go of her hand and, in full view of the families struggling to get to the amusement park, flipped the guy off. His blue eyes were cold, but he grinned maniacally right at the stranger as they passed by.

She burst out laughing. "Stop that!" she admonished without any authority, and pulled his hand down. He put his arm around her waist and kept walking, faster now, toward Gold Saucer's exit.

"That was the guy at the bar, right?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said tersely.

"It's more than jealousy, isn't it?" She allowed him to help her board the ropeway. God, she hated this deathtrap. It was a fifteen-minute trip through hell for her.

"There were five more," he said in a low voice, taking a seat next to her, slouching back with his long legs blocking the aisle, not caring when she practically climbed into his lap and buried her face and her fists in his jacket, fully expecting the rope to snap and to die when it did. He tilted his head back, scanning the otherwise empty car, the re-ceding station. "All were packing heat. They followed us from the ho-tel."

"Who were they?" Surprisingly, she wasn't worried. This sounded like some Turk thing, and that had nothing to do with her. She was a high school teacher from Cosmo Canyon. Besides, it wasn't like this hadn't happened before.

"Yakuza." He sneered the word. He was quiet for a moment, but then he finally focused on her. "Would you come to Edge? Just for a couple of days," he said quickly, already seeing her answer in her face, which she was irritated enough to lift.

"I can't, Reno, you know that," she said with a sigh. "I have to go to work tomorrow, and I don't want to leave my apartment empty for that long. Plus, I have that meeting with the class trip committee –"

"I don't like this," he interrupted. The cable car swung in the wind, which made her squeal and mash her face into his chest. "They could have singled me out, but they didn't. They were sent to gather infor-mation."

"And they got information on me," she muttered into his chest. She was starting to sweat now. Crippling fear. Of all the free space beneath the car, not of some silly Turk vs. yakuza thing. "Yeah, I get it. Doesn't matter. I'm still going home."

He started to say something else, but it was her turn to interrupt. "Don't worry about it. Nanaki is there. I'll put him on watch. If they're here, then it's probably because of you, not me."

The car came to a stop, but, for the first time ever, she didn't bolt. Instead, she reached up and kissed him. Long and sweet. The driver might have interrupted, but he recognized a Turk when he saw one and wisely busied himself with the ramp. Reno held her, and she could feel him trembling.

_I love you_. The words were there. She'd said them, and she wouldn't take them back.

She didn't wait for him to say the words back to her. She already knew. By the desperation in his eyes, the strength of his arms. She disen-tangled herself and gathered up her bag. "Call me, okay?"

With a deep, fortifying breath – in with the air of solitude, out with Reno – she began the long trip home.

* * *

_**A/N: **Ooo, it was harder getting in Cristobel's head! LOL._

_By the way, I am so happy with my gorgeous new book cover. It's called "Hotel Reno?" by K-Koji. Link on my profile if you want to see it in all it's beautiful glory! :3_

_Reviewer thanks! **Victoria Chrystallis **(Welcome! Thank you so much for the review :3__), **Lady Aurora Nocturne** (Haha, right? :3 Thankies again for suggesting this - I'm having so much fun! :3 And thanks for the lovely review, too), and **Boingo33** (Welcome to you, too, and thank you so much! :3)._

_Thanks for reading, and please review!_

_Ever Yours,_

_Anne_


	5. Chapter 5

"Whoever thought that bringing twenty-five teenagers on a class trip to Costa del Sol was a good idea is a sadistic bastard," she complained into her phone.

Reno chuckled, a sound that, years after she'd first heard it, still made her heart speed up. "They're graduating in a couple of days. It's normal to let off steam."

"I wouldn't mind them letting off steam so much if I didn't feel like I've developed sudden onset – _Danny, Fred, Lydia, I swear to God, if you don't put those beers down I'm going kick your asses into next week! Get back to the café!_ – Tourette's," she finished ruefully, when three of her charges reluctantly returned to their lunches and laughing classmates, mutter-ing darkly. "Bar. Not for you," she said, holding Danny's rebellious eye. "If I catch you doing that again you'll find yourself living on the bus until we go home.

"Sorry," she then said quickly into the phone, but Reno didn't an-swer, and she knew he'd jerked his phone away from his ear the second she'd started screaming. "I'm done. Reno?"

"You're pretty loud, you know," he said, and she could hear the smile.

"You love it," she retorted, leaning her forehead against an awning post.

The patio café was an explosion of color, from the bright umbrellas to the riot of flowers. Under the brilliant sun, the beach-goers glistened in their swimsuits and sunglasses. Her kids took all but two tables, laughing and shouting, most of them still dripping from their morning swim. She let her eyes close, feeling the heat soak through her flip flops, the sun warm her face. She held the hard little phone, wishing she could hold him. "How's the job going?"

"We're about done here. Actually, there wasn't much to do. They were expecting us. Place is cleaned out."

"They were _expecting_ you?" She frowned. "That's odd."

"Third time." His voice, which had that slightly echoing timber as if he was standing in an empty warehouse, which he probably was, sounded frustrated.

So these yakuza were staying a step ahead of the Turks. It had been a month, and still Reno and the others hadn't been able to pin them down. She bit her bottom lip, trying not to tell him to be careful. He knew what he was doing.

"Rude thinks he found a lead," Reno said. "I can't talk about it here, but I'll let you know as soon as we've moved."

"Okay," she said.

He hung up without saying goodbye, as was his wont. She sank into her seat, staring at her phone, her mind a million miles away from Costa del Sol.

"Who were you talking to, Miss Coleridge?" a girl called across the café.

"Her _boyfriend_," another one smugly answered, one of the girls from the cheerleading squad.

There were several gasps. "You have a boyfriend?"

"What's his name?"

"Can we see him?"

They crowded around her, smelling of sand and suntan lotion, their faces alight with curiosity. The abandoned boys looked on warily.

She laughed. "Sure," she said, scrolling through her gallery until she found the first picture of Reno she'd ever taken. Shirtless, a mug of cof-fee in his hand, his hair a mass of uncombed red, tilted blue eyes wide, his expression caught on the edge of horrified realization. It was the most adorable thing. He didn't know she still had the picture.

Her girls broke into squeals, passing the phone around.

"How long have you been going out?" Jillian asked.

"Sometimes, it feels like a hundred years," she answered, grinning.

"Are you going to get married, Miss Coleridge?" Akiko asked wist-fully.

"Uh –" Caught off guard by the question, she laughed again. "No. He isn't exactly the marrying type." _But neither am I_.

The girls went off in squeals again, only stopping when the male chaperone, Harada, appeared to announce the afternoon's activities. Chairs scraped as the students stood, gathering trays and trash and half-drunken water bottles, and their voices rose in an excited babble.

Quietly, she closed her phone and put it away, thinking about what she had said. And didn't say.

..::~*~::..

Past lights out. When the kids stopped trying to sneak off to make out in the flowerbeds. She considered putting on her running gear but decided to take a moonlit walk on the beach instead. So much sun was exhausting.

Barefoot, she wandered down the shore, letting the waves wash away all trace of her passage. It was beautiful, warm and balmy, the water glowing faintly beneath the moon, the wind combing through her hair and rustling in the palms, the waves rolling onto shore with a sound like muted thunder.

The gunshot shattered the night.

"Dammit, ow," she half gasped, half groaned, rolling onto her side. She was partly buried in the sand, and the night continued to explode as if the stars had become fireworks. She sat up, and her phone fell out of her hoodie pocket, the glass fractured, its casing curled around the bullet. Breathless, she stared at the silent black chunk of plastic and metal, at the loss of all her music and photos. For a moment, tears wel-led up in her eyes. _Whoa, déjà vu_.

Then she realized that someone was calling to her.

"Ma'am! Are you all right?" More shots cracked overhead.

Was she? Her poor phone had stopped the bullet, but not the killing force. Unable to answer, she frantically dug around in her pockets until she found two things that, like the phone, she always carried with her.

A staff the length of a stick of gum, and Reno's ring.

She closed her fingers around both and released the mini spell. The staff grew in her hands like a blooming flower on fast forward. Instantly, she activated her mastered restore materia, and then slipped the tough ring over her thumb. As the pain receded, the black-trousered legs in front of her swam into focus, and she looked up eagerly.

Her mouth dropped open.

"_Elena_? What are you doing here?"

The petite Turk glanced down at her over her arm, a gun in each hand, and then whipped her head back up and fired in quick succession. Two shadowy shapes fell from the top of the beach house.

"It's not safe here, ma'am. Can you get up?" Elena asked, always too polite.

She could, so she did, but she was furious. "What the _hell_ is going on?" At least two more Turks were on the beach with them, exchanging thoughtful discussion with the swarming, shadowy shapes. Nobody seemed inclined to answer her question, and Elena was definitely busy. "Oh, never mind!" she snarled.

She lifted the staff, and a glowing green circle flared to life in the sand. From the clear sky, blast after blast of purple thundaga slammed into the groups of assassins, crackling and booming across the water. Some managed to scream before they died.

Then it was dead quiet.

Elena blinked and lowered her guns. She and Elena eyed each other, and Elena's pretty face broke into a smile.

"Nice," the Turk said, and then she blinked again. It was clear Elena was listening to someone chirp at her through the device in her ear. She raised her blue eyes.

"Sir, you need to return to the bus," Elena said loudly, waving as she struggled up the sandy slope in her hyper-shined shoes.

Harada coalesced out of the dark, angrily shaking off the Turk who kept trying to steer him away. "I want to know who you think you are, disrupting my class in the middle of the night. It sounded like a battle zone out here. I demand to know what's going on!"

Coming up behind Elena, she gasped, "Harada! Is everyone okay?" Although Cure2 had healed her, sometimes it took the body a while to figure out it was fine, and she was having trouble breathing.

"Cris!" His eyes widened as he took in her appearance, the wet sand crusted in her hair and clothes, the staff in her hand. "What happened to you?"

"Got shot, down there," she said, gesturing vaguely behind her.

He swelled. "I don't care if you _are_ Turks!" he bellowed in Elena's face. "I will not have you attacking my teachers or rounding up my stu-dents!"

"Sir," Elena started, back ramrod straight, but, "No, Harada, it was-n't them," she said, interrupting the Turk. "They're here to help us. Ele-na, did Reno send you?" Now that she wasn't distracted by gunfire, she could think properly, and had a pretty good idea of who the assassins had been. Elena's nod confirmed it.

"We are here to replace Red XIII, who is still on station in Cosmo Canyon," Elena said crisply. Any other day her referring to Nanaki by his code name as if he was a professional spy would have been funny. But not right then, because she grew cold at why Elena would have con-tacted him.

The yakuza. They were there for her.

Rocked by this revelation, she found it hard to pay attention to what was going on.

"Sir, this location has been compromised," Elena was saying. "I'm going to have to ask you to take your students back to Cosmo Canyon. We will send an escort."

Not seeming to listen to Elena, Harada was staring at her instead as if he'd never seen her before, and, with a sinking feeling, she realized why. She was standing there with a bullet hole in her hoodie, a weapon in her hand, and was on a first-name basis with a Turk. Her fist tight-ened, feeling the smooth shaft of her staff, the hard ridge of the ring she'd stolen so long ago.

He cleared his throat, meek and obedient. Or maybe just repulsed. "The girls are asking for you, Cris. Are you coming?"

"I'm afraid not," Elena said flatly, her fingers lightly pressing on her earpiece. "Miss Coleridge is now in our custody."

* * *

_**A/N: **All right, this did not go ANYWHERE I thought it would, but I do still plan to close up the story in the next chapter. :3 I truly hope you've enjoyed this so far. Won't you please review and let me know what you thought?_

_Reviewer thanks! __**Lady Aurora Nocturne** (Thank you so much for being such a faithful reader of this! *hugs* Interestingly enough, i'm still not sure the "real" Reno would ever feel that way about anyone, but hey, that's what fanfiction is for, right? Haha!)._

_Yours,_

_Anne_

_Don't forget - review!_


	6. Chapter 6

"I could come back for the last two weeks and stay through graduation," she offered, but without believing for one second that he'd accept.

Sure enough, Principal Aimone declined the offer. Harada had got-ten home in one piece, and had no doubt said some things she wished he hadn't. She closed her eyes against the memory of those assassins. The ones she'd killed to protect herself, her kids.

"That won't be necessary, Miss Coleridge," Mr. Aimone said. "Why don't you enjoy your summer, take some time off."

Translation: _The school board can't have anyone associated with the Turks in the halls of Cosmo High_. _Our children can't be exposed_.

"Yes, sir. Thank you," she said dully.

"Good luck, Miss Coleridge."

She would have responded in kind, but he'd already disconnected.

She sat in a cocoon of numbness, the borrowed phone in her limp hand, as the car turned off the highway and entered Edge proper. She saw nothing but a featureless blur beyond the tinted windows.

She'd lost her job. A job that she loved. And most likely would never hold again, not if the school board had anything to say about it. She'd be blacklisted from every school on Gaea from this point forward. Her short-lived career was over. What else was there for someone like her, with a measly GED and no marketable skills?

She couldn't go home. The yakuza knew of her, were using her to get to Reno and the Turks. They'd tried to kill her out of some ven-geance thing, and would no doubt try again.

_Reno_. Was he safe? They didn't know. Contact with him and Rude had been lost. Her eyes, which had been dry to this point, filled and spilled over.

Tseng's slanted eyes lifted from the road and up to the rearview mirror, the red tilak centered between and above them like a target. She pulled her legs onto the seat and buried her face in her knees so she wouldn't have to look at him.

She'd forgiven Tseng a long time ago. She knew what he meant to Reno, what being a Turk meant. Still, his weren't the eyes she wanted to see.

To Tseng's credit, he didn't ask her to return his phone, nor did he comment on her breakdown. Displaying a kindness she suspected they all had, whether they allowed it to show or not, he smoothly drove along the city streets and let her cry.

..::~*~::..

_He . . . isn't exactly the marrying type_.

She followed Tseng into Reno's apartment, as skittish as the most inept burglar in the world.

"Won't they know to look for me here?" she asked, dragging her small suitcase with her. It was filled with beach towels, flip flops, her bikini, shorts, tank tops, and suntan lotion. Things that had no place in Edge.

"Probably," Tseng replied, his sly humor coming through his care-fully controlled expression. "We're not in the habit of providing safe houses. You will be protected here."

Translation: _Don't try to leave_. _You won't get far_.

"Right," she said, looking around. Whatever she'd expected of Reno's place, it wasn't this. The apartment seemed reasonably clean, if sparsely furnished. Everything was either black, white, or gray, even the pictures on the walls. She moved to the sliding glass door that opened onto a balcony, but left it closed. Like her, he preferred the top floor.

"We'll be in touch," Tseng said.

"Thank you," she said, trying to shake off her brevity but failing. She didn't know what to say. Because Tseng – cold, aloof Tseng – was wor-ried, too.

He nodded once, and left.

The feeling of being an intruder increased as soon as the door clos-ed and she went over to it and locked it, sealing herself in. Slowly, she wandered through the rooms – two bedrooms, one bath, all exuding a faint air of neglect – that belonged to someone else. It was a bachelor's pad, that was for sure. The extra room contained exercise equipment, the unframed pictures displaying an old karate action movie star, Bruce something-or-other. Reno's admitted hero. A computer setup, desk, and chair were squashed into one end of his bedroom, and she critically eyed the fleece blanket tacked to the wall behind the bed that depicted a white tiger. At least it wasn't a poster of some big-breasted woman. She kept exploring, discovering a tiny washer-dryer taking up space in a closeted corner of the bathroom.

In the end, she dumped all of her clothing in and started the wash-er, but couldn't bring herself to unpack anything else. She would take a shower. Later. When it wasn't so weird. Naked, she went to his closet and selected one of his white dress shirts, rolling up the sleeves so she could use her hands.

God, it smelled like him.

She wanted so badly to break this isolation. To call her best friend, Yuffie. Or 7th Heaven. Surely Tifa could help. And Cloud, if he was there. But Reno's phone was with him, wherever he was, and hers had been left on the beach.

In the kitchen, she received a pleasant surprise. There, tacked on the refrigerator, was a picture of her. She didn't know when it had been taken, but she was smiling at something in the blue-sky distance, the sun in her hair, flowers and green grass around her feet. The photo was wrinkled, as if it had been handled often.

Was her problem truly that Reno wasn't the kind of guy to make a lifelong commitment? Look at what he'd done as a Turk. If that wasn't commitment, she didn't know what was. Or was it her? Was she so caught up in her perfect life that she'd shut him out?

Why hadn't she let him go so he could find someone better? Was love really that self-centered?

Being there in his neat but lonely home, where the only color was caged in this dog-eared photograph, she realized what a fool she had been. How easily her carefully constructed life had fallen apart! How long she had selfishly kept him here, in a place without cheer or –

Or food. She opened the fridge and stood staring at the cavernous interior. There was a single bottle of beer on one shelf, and, inexplic-ably, a small award from Shin-Ra on another.

She started to laugh. _Oh, Reno_ . . .

So she did what he probably had done countless times before: She went online and ordered a pizza. She dragged his comforter off his bed, drank his beer while she ate on his couch, and fell asleep to a movie on his TV.

..::~*~::..

Someone was holding her hand.

She swam out of unconsciousness with difficulty. She always slept like the dead after she'd been crying.

"Reno?" she mumbled, disoriented, trying to raise her head. The TV was still on, throwing bluish shadows across the walls.

"Shh. Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

"Reno!" She shot upright. "Oh, my God, it is you!"

"Yeah." A corner of his mouth hitched, but his eyes were wary. Un-sure.

She launched herself at him, knocking him flat across his own couch, her arms locked around his neck. She felt his chuckle.

"It's okay, Cris. It's over. We got them."

"Rude?" she asked into his collarbone.

"He's fine."

She let go so she could see his face. Suddenly, she felt very shy. "Welcome home," she said softly.

Something in his eyes changed. They turned playful, cocky. A look she hadn't seen in far too long.

"I could get used to that," he said, and kissed her. His hands ran up under the shirt, and he smiled against her lips when he discovered no resistance underneath it. "I'd kind of like to earn _this_, though."

She was slender enough that she didn't need to unbutton the shirt. She simply pulled it over her head and dropped it on the floor.

His hands were already busy, as was his mouth, before she lowered her arms. He kissed her jaw, her throat, a breast, a nipple. Then he stay-ed there, causing her breath to hitch, her thoughts to scatter. When he pushed her to the side and repositioned himself so that his weight pres-sed her into the cushions, she couldn't object. Not that she'd want to, not when things fit together so nicely. The muscles in his back contrac-ted and expanded under her hands, and he was saying something in her ear.

"_I love you_."

Happiness crashed through her as she started the familiar, slow, pleasurable spiral of lovemaking. Unusually quiet, full of love and of him, she held on and let it take her.er.

* * *

_**A/N: **No, it's not finished! I didn't quite make my self-imposed story length. I was careful to only have one scene break per chapter, but this one ended up having two. Whoops. That's what I get for never making an outline, I suppose. :3 Anyway, There is still one scene left, and I can't decide if I want it to be from Cristobel's POV, or Reno's. What do you think? Whose would you prefer? Please review and let me know!_

_Random fact: Just for fun, I thought I'd use this story as a writing exercise. It was more difficult than I thought! In Reno's chapters, I only referred to him as "he," never using his name unless someone else said it. The same for Cris's chapters. Did you notice? Was it distracting? Or did I manage it naturally enough that you didn't notice? I'd love to hear your thoughts on it._

_Reviewer thanks! __**Boingo33** (Oh, I'm so happy you came back to review again! Thank you so, so much! :3)._

_Ever Gratefully Yours,_

_Anne_

_Please review, folks! We're almost done!_

_**A/N2**: Oh, I almost forgot. I have no idea where I read about Reno's karate being based on Bruce Lee. Fanfic? Interview? No idea. But I always liked the idea, so ol' Bruce has a cameo here. :3_


	7. Chapter 7

**_Of the end_**

Reno stood outside the bar with his hands in his pockets, and sighed. The sun had gone down, but the sky was still a gray twilight that never truly left and he could read the sign just fine. This was Edge, and yet the Lockhart babe had given her restaurant the same name as the original: 7th Heaven. Ha, ha.

Was there anyone left who got it?

Car doors slammed behind him. President Shinra got out last, not acknowledging as Tseng closed his door behind him.

With a smirk, the President swept past Reno, pulling Elena and Rude after him like a child with toys on a string. Reno automatically followed.

Partying with his boss. This was a first.

"Welcome!" Lockhart shouted from behind the expansive, gleam-ing wooden bar as soon as they walked in, but Reno doubted they'd be able to hear her if she said anything else. Conversations and the back-ground music created a sort of living atmosphere that made more con-versation impossible.

Even though he'd been there before, he was surprised at what Lockhart had pulled off. Like most of Edge's business district, the buil-ding's façade was a patchwork of sheet metal cannibalized from Midgar, the foundation placed by the zoning commission to artfully hide the ruins of the old city. Inside, it was a haven of cleanliness, with real wood tables and chairs, brass and mirrors, framed pictures on the white walls, fans lazily turning overhead amidst the exposed ceiling beams and ven-tilation system.

7th Heaven was popular with the locals, offering good food and bet-ter booze. The President had reserved the whole establishment for the evening. It was a company-wide celebration, and many of Shin-Ra's em-ployees were already taking advantage of a Friday night and the boss's generosity.

Reno couldn't help it. As they filed past the bar and Lockhart gave them a dazzling smile, he nudged Rude with his elbow.

The look Rude gave him could have soured beer, but Reno snick-ered into his fist. Even after all this time, his partner nursed a soft spot for Lockhart, but there was a figure at the far end of the bar, drinking in a little island of solitude, who had always and would always stand in the way. As they watched, Lockhart leaned on the bar near the register, listening to something he said that made her laugh, and Rude, his face impassive, kept walking.

It wasn't a surprise to Reno that Strife was there. He lived above the restaurant, after all. There should be some kids running around somewhere, too. Wallace, busy in the field searching for oil, drifted in and out like Strife with his crazy, one-man delivery service. Tseng kept tabs on them, of course. Cozy setup they had. Like a bizarre family. Reno rubbed the back of his neck, hoping he'd get some of that booze, and soon.

The back area was quieter. Less Shin-Ra employees, the designers and coders and engineers that all wanted to shake Rufus's hand, to con-gratulate him over and over, and more privacy. The President slid smoothly into a half booth, Reno and the others joining him.

Elena was the first to speak, fervent and star struck. "You did it, Mr. President. Congratulations." Sitting between Tseng and Rude, she looked like a doll, the top of her head below their shoulders. Not that she'd ever let her size stop her. Reno felt a surge of affection for her. For all of them. They were _his_ family.

"Shin-Ra Electric is back in the investor's eye," Tseng agreed soberly.

Reno turned a chuckle into a cough. That one had come out of the new marketing department. Shorten the name. Change the product.

It was all gimmickry. How did the new slogan go? _Imagination. Crea-tivity. Passion. Quality. Excitement. Shin-Ra Electric_. Some mouthful, but it had worked. The President would never bring the company back to the days of his grandfather, when they manufactured motor vehicles, nor could he bear to have it limp along in the electric power business. He'd come up with something better. Give the people products that were meant to be fun, unique, and memorable, and were something they never knew existed until they saw one – then they had to have it. It was genius.

"Congratulations," Rude rumbled.

Reno's hand lay flat on the table. No drinks. There was something very wrong with that. He slouched back in his seat, scrubbing the back of his head. "Nice one, boss."

"Thank you," the President said, smiling.

He went on to say something else about how they'd all contributed something to their success, but Reno, tapping his finger on the empty table, wasn't paying attention.

He couldn't figure out why they were _here_. Why 7th Heaven? Being this close to Strife and Lockhart was making him think of _her_. But she wasn't there. She'd left him again. Disappeared back to Cosmo Canyon.

Damn it, where were those drinks?

He tilted his chair back on two legs, wishing he could have gone home.

Then their server breezed up. "Welcome, folks. Sorry about the wait," she said cheerily, leaning past Reno to toss napkins on the table like a dealer in a casino.

He nearly fell over backward.

Rude and Cristobel caught him, each grabbing an arm and hauling him upright. Cristobel was laughing.

"Hi," she said. Then, as if she did this every day, she turned back to the table and started taking orders. "Would you like to open a tab?" she asked, accepting a pile of menus from the President.

Tseng produced a shiny silver card that had Rufus's name on it, which she took with a smile.

Reno found his voice. "What're you doing here?"

She made a kissy face at him that earned a cough from Rude. "I work here. Be right back with those drinks."

"You – but – you –" But she was gone. He couldn't seem to close his mouth.

Suddenly, Rude reached over and delivered a backhanded swat that would have knocked Elena right over. Reno jumped and looked down at him, realizing that he'd gotten to his feet. Rude tilted his head at Reno's chair, his expression clear: _Sit down and shut the hell up_.

Even Tseng was smiling. Utterly bewildered, Reno sank into his seat. The President continued talking as if there had been no inter-ruption.

Reno watched her all night in a daze. He didn't notice the time pas-sing, or how many drinks he downed. Cristobel and the kid – what was his name? Denzel? – never seemed to stop moving. Or smiling. He knew that smile. She was enjoying herself, feeding on the energy of her custo-mers. She was wearing what looked like a schoolgirl's plaid skirt, short and pleated, and a pair of combat boots. Her legs flashed as she navi-gated the tables with trays of food or drink. That was hot. Even better was the chain around her neck, and the ring hanging from it. His ring. Which she made sure every guy who hit on her could see.

It took the President saying, "Reno! Monday. Don't be late," for him to realize that they were leaving. Without him.

He got to his feet in a hurry. "Yes, sir."

..::~*~::..

"You okay over there?" she called across the bar.

"Yeah."

"I'll be done in a sec, just let me put this away." She upended the last chair over a table, took a swipe under it with a mop, and then van-ished in the back. He hadn't seen Lockhart or Strife for a while, and guessed he wasn't going to when she reappeared and flicked off most of the lights. "You ready? Let's go."

She locked up, shrugging on her patched hoodie, and then slipped her hand into his. "This way," she said, pointing down the street.

He didn't ask where they were going. He didn't ask why she was there. For once, he was leaving a bar under his own power, and that whole brain-mouth filter thing was still in effect. He waited for her to speak first.

Turning down a side street, she did. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I wanted it to be a surprise. They all knew, you know."

He nodded. The night was cool. Her hand was warm.

"Anyway, after I lost my job," she said, and then paused as if to stop herself from saying too much, but he winced, anyway. Yet another thing that was his fault. "Yeah. I couldn't stay there. So I called Tifa and asked her for help. It's just up here."

She sped up, crossing the street on a diagonal into a residential neighborhood. "She gave me a job. Reeve helped me find a place. Cloud and Barret helped me move."

"You live here?" It was two-thirty in the morning. He was having an out of body experience. Or he was dreaming. There was no other way to explain this.

She jumped up the front steps to an apartment building, short skirt flouncing, and let herself into the lobby. "Yeah. Well – you'll see. Come on, stairs."

He smirked. Well, if it was a dream, it was a damn realistic one. After that one time, he'd never been able to get her back into an ele-vator.

So they climbed several flights together, their footsteps echoing in the stairwell. She went straight for the door marked 6B, unlocked it, and disappeared ahead of him.

Curious, he went in. Like hotels, apartments tended to all look the same. Different room dimensions and placement of windows, but not much other than that. She stood in the middle of the space that sepa-rated her living room from her dining room, her hands clasped in front of her, green eyes wide and uncertain.

"It's a two bedroom," she said, almost apologetically. "I couldn't afford bigger than that. But I sold a lot of stuff, so there's room . . ."

She trailed off, but he'd given up on trying to understand what was going on. After a moment, she took a deep breath and tossed something small and brass at him.

He caught it. Stared at it lying in his palm.

A key.

"If you want it," she said. "If you want it, then, welcome home, Reno."

He reached her in two strides, seizing her around the middle with both arms and lifting her up. She squealed, locking her arms around his neck.

"Does that mean you want it?" she asked.

"Yes." He wasn't going to put her down, even though she'd started kicking her feet. "Hey. I love you."

She giggled. "I love you, too . . . yo."

* * *

_**A/N: **Jeez, Anne, why so long? Two scenes. Not one. Basically, I am incapable of properly ending a story. But this one is over. For reals. One happy ending, check. :3 I hope you thought so, too._

_Reviewer thanks! __**Boingo33** (Thanks for the vote! I thought it should be in his POV too, once I started writing, lol. And thank you, again, for reviewing! You are awesome. :3), **Lady Aurora Nocturne** (This isn't meant to be contentious at all, but I had a really hard time imagining what Reno's place would look like! Messy, like your first thought, or . . . or just, what? lol. So my reasoning was that yeah, he has this unfortunate sloppy yanki fashion going on, but any guy who takes that much care with his hair, dyeing it and styling it, would know how to move a vacuum around. :3 I compensated with him not owning a whole lot of stuff because I figure he's just not home often. Anyway. Ramble at an end. LOL. Thanks for commenting on my exercise, and voting on POV. You guys really are the best. THANK YOU!), and **Darwin** (I can't even tell you the squees. Thanks for coming back to review them all! Oh, thoughts on Reno saying "yo" . . . Okay, so, in Japanese, he has a speech affectation, in which he ends almost all of his sentences with "zo to," "yo to," or just "to." It's super cute and he's the only one who does it - I have no idea what it's supposed to sound like besides cute. Slangy? Like a gang member? We don't have anything comparable in English. ANYWAY. I just really do not have a handle on his type of character, and I couldn't get his dialogue to come out slangy enough, so I went for a transliteration of "yo." I kind of hate it, too, but that's my failing as a writer. Also, about Cris getting shot - did it come TOO out of the blue? I wanted it to be a shocking vengeance thing but I didn't have a whole lot of space to put it in. HOWEVER, if it isn't right, I'd love to fix it. :3 Thank you so so much for all of the reviews!)._

_I love you guys!_

_Okay, time for some acknowledgments._

_Number One: This chapter. I totally stole the Shin-Ra Electric new slogan and product description from The Sharper Image. I'M SO SORRY, SHARPER IMAGE! But seriously, that whole, you never knew this product existed but you have to have it thing sounds so manipulative. I thought it fit Rufus's personality. Plus, I know that becoming a household icon would appeal to him. lol._

_Two: As I said before, I undertook this project to answer the question of whether Reno and Cris got their happy ending or not. The thanks for this go to the people who reviewed StCB back in the day, and more especially to Lady Aurora Nocturne, who encouraged it._

_Three: To ALL of my reviewers. I am so grateful to you. Darwin, Lady Aurora Nocturne, Victoria Chrystallis, Boingo33, and BleedingHeartsoftheWorldUnite. Without you, I would never feel the excitement and wonder that comes from writing. Thank you._

_Four: My thanks go once again to DeviantArt's K-Koji, for allowing me to use "Hotel Reno?" as the book cover. Love!_

_Until next time, Dear Readers, adieu,_

_Anne_

_P.S. I know the story is over, but won't you please leave a review and let me know what you thought? Good, bad, or indifferent, I love them all. Thank you!_

_By the way, I do try to return all reviews, because I like to read as much as write. :3_

_P.P.S. Because FFVII is something of a sickness with me, I've decided to try my hand at a new fanfic based partly in this world. It's one I've had in mind since 2009 but didn't know how to pull off. (Meaning, I was terrified to share it with anybody, LMAO.) I will be posting that very soon. It will be called "A Time for Dragons." I would love it if you would have a look!_


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